


Something made it inevitable

by a_sparrows_fall



Category: Indiana Jones Series, Marvel 616, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: 1920s, 1930s, Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Fusion, Alternate Universe - Indiana Jones, F/M, Female Tony Stark, Magic, Nepal, Steve is a scoundrel, Summer funtimes archaeology fic, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-06
Updated: 2015-07-06
Packaged: 2018-04-07 23:33:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4282176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_sparrows_fall/pseuds/a_sparrows_fall
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Toni smiles even wider. “Is that what we are now? Friends?"</p><p>“You want to keep it formal? Business partner?"</p><p>“Partner.” She nods. “Sure, all right. You got yourself a goddamn partner."</p><hr/><p>A Steve / fem!Tony <i>Raiders of the Lost Ark</i> fusion fic. Magic artifacts, technology of the future, and hopefully, fun.</p><p>For the Cap-IM Tiny Reverse Bang 2015.</p><p>ART CODE: Assemble, aka "Like Nothing You've Ever Gone After Before" (<a href="http://capim-tinybang.tumblr.com/post/122629974013/title-like-nothing-youve-ever-gone-after-before">link</a>)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Something made it inevitable

###  _1936_

It does not look like a bar that belongs to a millionaire’s daughter. Who might even be a millionaire in her own right.

It’s dark inside, but as his eyes adjust, he takes in the worn and slightly decaying wooden walls, tables, and chairs. In the center along the back wall there’s a bar counter; colorful bottles labelled with non-Latin characters adorn a shelf behind it. To his right, a fire flickers in a fireplace topped by a chimney of stacked mortarless stones rising up and through the high beamed ceiling. Both bar and fireplace are decorated with relics, carvings, statues, a hodge podge of random cultures and religions; many of them look familiar, and he tries not to let his gaze linger on any one for too long, because the memories of when he last saw them… well, better not to remember.

But his eye is drawn to his own long shadow cast on the far side the room and finally to the girl standing next to it. She’s slight, wearing gray trousers and a collared ivory shirt with a ruby-colored cloth scarf tied around her neck, her dark hair knotted at the nape of her neck. She stands with a wide stance, sure-footed, owning the space entirely, arms crossed.

And maybe he can glance away from the knick-knacks that remind him of the past, but he can’t stop looking at her. The presence of her in the present tears into him. She’s here now, and he has to talk to her.

Oh, boy.

“Omaha Rogers. Here. In my bar. It’s a Goddamn miracle. Where’d they dig up an artifact like you? More importantly, _why?_ "

And, yeah, he deserves that. But Toni’s eyes flash as she smashes the shotglass against the stone floor. She was fiery the last time Steve saw her; she’s all grown up now, and she’s _terrifying_.

Ancient booby traps, deadly curses — all that is child’s play compared to going toe-to-toe with this girl—no, _woman_.

But then a change comes over her. She smiles softly, almost pulling him in, her face brighter and warmer than the fire, and Steve can’t help it, he’s already grinning and crossing the floor toward her. “I’m looking for one of your father’s old pieces—"

It is damn good to see her, whatever the circumstances, and maybe together they can—

He barely sees her pull her fist back before it collides with his face.

“You came halfway around the world to talk me about _Howard?_ Typical."

Steve gently strokes his jawline as he twists back to look at her. Her eyes have gone icy, matching the weather outside.

Yeah, he probably deserved that, too.

“Well, you still have a helluva right hook — _you_ sure haven’t changed."

“Haven’t I? I’ve learned to hate you."

“ _Hate_ —?" The immediate stinging hurt makes makes his brows furrow and his tone more aggressive than he intends.

“I was a child! I was—" Toni barks at him, impassioned, ten years of anger coming out at once. Then she cuts herself off abruptly. Her eyes go narrow, focusing her pain. "It was wrong and you know it."

It _was_ (he feels the air go out of his lungs and his stomach twist, helpless, like when he was a boy, before he, well, _changed_ ) and he does know (it was improper and rash, maybe, but he cared for her; he never wanted to hurt her, for it to be _wrong_ ), but Steve has trouble backing down from a fight, and Toni always _could_ raise his hackles.

Besides, he knows her — she doesn’t want an apology, not now. She’s not ready to calm down. Her face is hard; he always thought of her in this state as 'having her armor on.'

“What do you want me to do, Toni, go back in time?" he snarls, letting himself get as riled as her. “Look, I can’t change what I did, but maybe I can be of use to you now. The piece, your f— Dr Stark’s— piece. I’ve got cash— I’m sure you don’t _need_ money, but I bet you still like it."

Toni’s expression smacks of _I’m-really-trying-not-to-hit-you-again_. She abruptly turns and busies herself, gathering glasses from the rest of the tables. “So pitch me, Rogers, or get the hell out of my place."

Steve sits at the nearest table and fishes in his jacket pocket. “Three thousand," he says as he flexes the wad of bills in his grip.

Toni pauses in her busy work long enough to throw him an unimpressed smirk over her shoulder. That’s petty cash to a Stark girl. Of course.

Steve tries (not terribly hard) not to roll his eyes and huffs. “Two more when I’m back in the states."

Toni brings all the glasses she’s collected back behind the bar— she’s clearly cleaning up at all to irritate him at this point, because this place looks like a dump, he thinks spitefully.

“I don’t know where it is," she says, with a trace of glee.

Okay, now Steve’s really annoyed.

He starts to push his chair away from the table. “I didn’t even tell you what piece it is!"

Toni shrugs cheekily. “Does it matter?"

Steve is up and on his feet, blood boiling now, no more trappings of anger for show.

“Do you think this is a game?" he demands, trying to force her attention with the intensity of his gaze, the proximity of his being, even with the counter of the bar between them. “Do you think this is about museums— about research—"

Toni’s enormous blue eyes go even wider, glassware forgotten, observing every inch of Steve with what seems like derisive amusement. “Oh my God," she laughs, disbelieving, “You’re carrying the torch, aren’t you? You and Jarvis? He must be about a million years old by now. First, my dad and Erskine, and now you— this is a government operation—"

“Toni—"

“Oh, God, Rogers, they spun you a patriotic yarn, and you got reeled in, hook, line, and sinker. It’s, what, SSR? Or it's S.H.I.E.L.D. now, isn’t it—Strategic Historic International Excavation and —"

“How do you know—"

“Are they paying you? Good money?" Toni barks a laugh, “And you’re only offering me five Goddamn thousand—"

“People are going to DIE, Toni!" Steve slams his hands on the bar top. Toni stops talking, but doesn’t flinch, not for a second. “It’s not just some job, all right? This involves!—“ he lowers his voice, glances around. There’s no one else in the bar now, but he keeps his voice low anyway. “This involves powerful forces, _military_ forces, hell bent on destroying everything and everyone. Your father is no stranger to assisting in, well, times of conflict—“ he keeps talking over the hiss of air released through Toni’s teeth, “So if you won’t help, tell me where he’s gone and I’ll—"

Toni leans across the bar counter, pushing into Steve’s personal space. “He’s _dead_ , Steve! Howard’s dead, all right?"

Steve’s mouth hangs a little open. Of course. Stupid. As if Howard Stark would let his only daughter stay in a place like this.

Toni doesn’t let the silence linger.

“Howard’s dead, I don’t know where all his pieces are located, but I know the one you’re talking about. I think I know where it’s at. I can get it for you."

Steve holds his hands up, making a circle with his fingers, happy to dive into talking about anything at all besides personal topics. “It’s a circle, about this big—"

Toni makes a gun with the fingers of her right hand, points it at Steve. “Bingo, that’s the one. I— it’s a very distinct piece," she says with a pointed finality, as if to subvert the look of skepticism that must be on his face.

Steve presses his lips into a flat line; the amulet, if you can call it that, would be a worthless-looking circle of iron, diameter about the size of a fist, with a non-precious stone in the middle. It would probably look like so much junk. Why would Toni fixate on such a thing?

And why would she be lying about knowing where it was?

But Steve's willing to play ball for the moment at least, and the mission is too important. He doesn’t press, just nods once, and hands her the wad of bills. “I appreciate the help, Stark," he says, sincerely but with a professional distance. It feels foreign, to be distant with her, but it seems to be the right choice.

“Come back in the morning. I’ll have more information then," she assures him, pocketing the cash, returning to wiping down glasses, as if everything that had just passed between then was all casual banter. “Now: goodnight and get lost, Rogers. See you tomorrow."

* * *

Steve’s not sure how long he’s been back in his room at the only inn in Selang, but it can’t be long. He sits on the mattress on the floor, willing himself calm, but it’s futile. He’s restless.

Toni’s here, not more than a few hundred yards away. She’s here, she has the piece, and she’s not telling him something.

He pulls a worn leatherbound notebook from an interior pocket of his coat. He flips past the first pages — class notes, references to books, ideas for papers — and stops at the pages roughly from the end of his time in grad school.

Pages of sketches of artifacts, scrawled maps... and pages with two sets of handwriting. They are relevant to the mission he’s on now, for certain, but in truth, they are the pages he always ends up looking at.

###  _1925_

**Be more careful with this— there are some nice drawings in here. Interesting notes on Nepal... Hope it gets back to you.**

That’s the first thing the stranger wrote to him. He’d left his notebook in the stacks at the Crerar Library carelessly, and the next day, when he went back to look for it, the librarian flagged him down, saying he’d found it in the book return that morning with a note on the front addressed to “the man with the hat (you know the one)." (Steve clutches his slightly-worn Fedora against his chest self-consciously.) 

He opened it and saw the inscription, scribbled in a slightly wild hand.

The librarian denied having written it, and Steve didn’t think the man would have reason to lie.

It could have ended there. But Steve left a note on the book shelf where he’d left the notebook yesterday, expressing his gratitude.

**To my friend who helped me my retrieve my notebook — Multas gratias tibi ago, for the notebook and the compliments. Also, keen eye! I did some undergraduate work on Nepal. It seems we have a mutual interest. Again, धन्यवाद; Yours, Captain Clumsy**

Steve told himself he wasn’t rushing over to the library the next day to see if there was a reply. He just had to study. Of course.

**Nice to meet you, Cap. Undergraduate work? I’m more intrigued by the future typically, but maybe we can collaborate on this. You seem to be good with languages, I’ll leave that bit to you. Care to join me working on a secret project? -I.M.**

And that was how it started. Steve would leave his notebook at different locations on campus, per instructions from the mysterious I.M., like a spy planting a dead drop, and then retrieving it a few days later. 

He knows he’s too old for this kind of nonsense.

But it’s invigorating, a change of pace from T.A.ing, grading papers, and deep research. Additionally, it couldn’t be denied that this engineering grad student (he assumed), this “I.M." (Intelligent Mortal? Industrious Mechanic? Steve had absolutely not puzzled over this for hours, not at all) was not only a bit of genius, but was alleging some pretty fantastical claims and seemed to have some research to back it up. 

Ancient sites in the Himalayas were giving off radiation and other unclassified and unpredictable types of energy— sources of power to make an engineer’s dreams sing. Steve isn’t as clever in the hard sciences as his unknown partner, but he knows enough to know that this was important and needed to be explored. 

At this early stage, however, perhaps a certain amount of trepidation was best. The implications were, well… somewhat hard to believe. He’s… familiar with artifacts being more than what they seem, is more ready to believe it than almost anyone he knows. But for the casual observer, more study would definitely be needed.

Steve — “Cap," as he continued to refer to himself in the notes — asked I.M. to meet in person a few times. **All will be revealed in time** , the only cryptic reply.

Or it _had_ been the only reply, until today, a few weeks after completing his graduate degree, he receives a note that says **Tonight**.

And Steve’s heart skips a beat when he sees, below, a signature line. Still a pseudonym, but a piece of the puzzle, nonetheless:

**Tonight. At the construction site for Stark Hall, 11pm. See you there. - Iron Man**

But he never gets to find out who Iron Man is. The meeting never comes to pass, because—

###  _1936_

Steve shuts the notebook, shuts down his reverie, and stares at the blank wall across from him.

He’s _definitely_ not going to sleep now.

He’s leaving his room, and the inn, before he has even the slightest idea where he’s going — probably not far, the village is truly tiny.

He paces, crunching boots grumpily into the snow, heading roughly in the direction of the center of town, when he’s passed by — knocked into by, actually — a group of men, shuffling the opposite direction. Toward Toni’s bar.

There are six of them, most of them tall, one shorter and more stout. A few locals, Nepalese men, and a few in heavy jackets with hoods up, whose faces he can’t see. His eyes involuntarily trace over them: their skin on their hands is pale; they’re probably not from around here.

He slows and takes another glance at them over his shoulder.

Even through thick parkas, certain angular outlines are extruded from the fabric. Guns, probably bigger than normal pistols, if he had to guess.

Steve’s hand goes to his whip, attached to his belt.

He stops walking altogether. And sighs. And waits for the sound of feet crunching in snow to stop, for a few muffled steps on stone. For the door to close. Before turning around, he waits for silence.

This is tricky.

He’d rather die than let anything happen to her, but even when she was younger, Toni could take care of herself.

More importantly:

Toni. Will. _KILL_ him. If he rushes in like some kind of hero. In _her_ place. Without at least waiting a second.

But six of them. Big, brutish-looking, some of them. _Six_.

A grimace pulls at Steve’s mouth. He shifts his weight.

They _could_ just be customers.

From far away. Visiting a remote village. With concealed weapons.

But.

He detaches the whip from his belt, palming the handle. It’s been repaired and reworked many times over; the handle is covered in dark blue at the moment, and the red leather of the body has been augmented with white strips, although all of that is difficult to discern beneath dirt and wear.

It’s hard to tell from here, but Steve thinks he hears raised voices from inside the bar.

After a second, he starts to walk toward the door of the bar.

He’s just about reached it — when the door bursts towards him, blown off its hinges by the full body weight of two now-unconscious German men, apparently flung at it.

Steve’s _really_ glad he waited.

There’s a crash of glass, sounds of striking, and shouting, including a roar from Toni.

Steve steps over the felled men into the doorway, peering in, trying to make sense of the scene.

Toni’s struggling against two more men, who have flanked her, each one attempting to hold one of her arms back as a short, pudgy middle-aged German, hood now lowered, approaches her menacingly with a hot poker pulled from her fireplace.

The muscular men shouldn’t really need to exert so much force to hold a person of Toni’s size in place, but Steve sees she’s wearing some kind of, well… apparatus. It’s like nothing he’s ever seen.

Out of the main piece, which is some kind of metal harness worn about her shoulders over her shirt, come metal rods of various thicknesses, encircling her upper arms, attached to flexible mechanical joints at the elbows. The rods and wires continue down her forearms — there are some cylinders attached there — one might be a gun of some kind with no grip, soldered in place. The mechanical arms end in grips that have brass knuckles, or similarly damaging fist covers.

The device must augment her strength, because the men can _barely_ hold her in place. (Toni can still take care of herself, can’t she?)

But another of the men, a sherpa, standing closer to Steve, has a gun trained on her, and the fat man is approaching with the poker, the red glow reflecting in Toni’s eyes; she snarls again. She’s going to need some help.

Steve cracks the whip lightning fast, pulling the gun effortlessly from the sherpa’s hand.

“Let her go," commands Steve— or well, he _would_ have commanded it. He only gets to “let," because Toni’s eyes flash up at him after the whip cracks. Adrenaline practically visibly rushing through her, she shouts and summons some additional strength, pulling her arms together, taking the men with her in the arc of their motion, slamming them into one other. She punches them both, and they stagger. She too, takes a step back, steadying herself, hands playing about the grips of the device.

Then _fire_ shoots out from the cylinder on her right vambrace, scorching both of the men, who are dropping to the floor, trying to crawl away as fast as possible. Even the man with the poker has stopped in his tracks, a little wide-eyed.

“ROGERS!" she screams, “I told you to GET LOST!"

Steve is snapped out of his intense focus just in time for the man he disarmed to come rushing at him, engaging him in a fist fight.

“Boy," shouts Steve back at her, deftly dodging punches from his adversary and landing some of his own, “you are SOMETHING."

Steve glimpses Toni shooting her flamethrower again, at the fat man, who is more nimble than he looks, dropping the poker as he dodges the bursts of fire. The some of the surrounding tables catch fire, the old dry wood going up in flames in moments.

Steve knocks his opponent out quickly with a powerful uppercut and starts to cross to confront the chubby German, but stops as Toni cries out and falls forward, chest slamming into the bar. One of the thugs she felled earlier must have grabbed her by the ankles.

A circular piece of metal falls out from underneath Toni’s neckscarf — at first Steve supposes she must have been wearing a necklace, a pendant — but it’s bigger, and there’s a tiny stone at the center of it.

The amulet, thinks Steve.

Toni gasps horribly as she watches the piece fall to the other side of the bar, near an upended burning table. Her metal arm braces seem to go dead, arms falling to her sides. She is breathing unevenly, but even so, she stamps her feet wildly, trying to render the assailant on the floor fully unconscious.

Steve takes a step to help her.

“NO," she demands, voice hoarse, “Focus on the amulet, keep him him away from it!"

Steve only hesitates a second — Toni’s struggling, looks pained for some reason, but he knows enough to listen to her — she has more information here than he does. He leaps the spreading flames and lands near the small German, blocking the man’s path to to the amulet.

“So zis is the ze famous Doctor Rogers, eh? Ze American scoundrel, thief of artifacts?" His pudgy face forms a forced smile. Steve sees his own face reflected in the man's glasses.

“You’re one to talk. To whom do I owe the displeasure?"

“Dr. Arnim Zola— not zat it matters, I think ve shall not meet again."

And the little man, pulling a small knife from his coat, rushes him. Actually _rushes_ him. It’s so comical it does actually surprise Steve momentarily, he’ll give him that.

Steve holsters the whip and grabs Zola, blocking him bodily. His grabs the wrist of Zola’s knife hand, and squeezes. Zola drops the knife.

“Combat not your strong suit, doc?" says Steve, but Zola just grins, and suddenly Zola’s reaching around the back of him with his free left hand, almost embracing him and—

Steve’s head is snapped back involuntarily and he crumples forward to the ground as a tremendous electric ZAP crackles on the air; Zola used the proximity to slap some kind of miniscule galvanized device on Steve’s back, shocked him, and took him out completely.

Lying on the floor, trying to shake the feeling of total helplessness, he thinks that this is rather of a lot of modern technology for his taste. Give him some nice ancient booby traps with concealed death pits and spears shooting up from the floor anyday.

With Steve out of the way, Zola scrambles toward the amulet, reaching without thinking barehanded into the flame, closing his palm around it.

But a liquid is pouring onto his hands, and the fire flares up even more; he shrieks horribly and scuttles away.

Steve looks up to the bar counter; Toni is flopped over the bar, breathing shallowly, but there’s a canister in her hand, detached from her metal harness — she loses the last bit of her strength and drops it. More liquid spills out: fuel from her flamethrower.

Her eyes are glazing over, she looks like she might be going into shock.

“Hands off my stuff, you Goddamn Kraut," she rasps.

Steve thinks he might see Zola scrambling to his feet, trying to beat a hasty retreat, but he honestly doesn’t care enough to look back and confirm.

He runs to immediately Toni, grabs her by the waist and hoists her over bar counter to him as she coughs. “Amulet," she breaths, head starting to loll.

  
_Forget the Goddamn trinket_ , Steve thinks, _you’re more important_. But instead he says, “I’m not going to let you die." He leans her against the bar, arms hovering around her in case she can’t support herself.

She’s pawing at the red neck scarf she still has on, pulling it off and out from under the harness. “Then… you’ll need… the _amulet_ , idiot," she hisses, waiving the scarf at him.

And… okay, this adamance is actually getting non-sensical, and Steve thinks the smoke and kerosene fumes might be getting to her. But even so, his body moves on instinct, taking the scarf and using it to retrieve the now scalding charm from the flames as quickly as he can.

“Zola got away," he huffs, so he has something to say other than _, Toni, don’t you dare die on me_.

“We should do the same," whispers Toni, eyes fluttering. She grimaces, fighting for consciousness.

Steve doesn’t have to be told twice; lifting her in his arms, he rushes forward through the flames toward the door.

The cold fresh air hits them and Steve gasps, kneeling and setting Toni down. She flails for the scarf-wrapped amulet and takes it from Steve, and throws it in the snow, letting it cool for a moment before snatching it back up in her hand.

She opens a panel on the front of the harness and underneath is a circular slot, and it’s hard to see down into it, but looks like the skin underneath is horribly scarred—

Toni slots the amulet into place; tiny sparks shoot down the metal arms as the device comes back to life and she writhes a minute on the ground, groaning. Steve knows his eyes must be enormous as he kneels next to her, hands out, not quite grasping at the air, anxious but not wanting to touch her, to make anything worse.

Toni stills, eyes open, and her breathing sounds even, deeper, more normal. She cranes her neck around at him, laughs once and nods. She’s okay.

Steve sits back on his heels and releases an enormous sigh, relaxes a moment. Concerned citizens from the village are starting to approach, a few of them checking on Toni’s well-being. "Ma ṭhīka chu, ma ṭhīka chu," Toni waves them off. A few are running in the other direction, to do something about the fire.

Steve just watches them, and looks around silently, surveying the mountain town, catching his breath. There’s no sign of Zola.

“That your idea of fun, Rogers?"

He looks at her. She’s half-smiling, starting to sit up.

"That's not exactly the word I would use. You wanna explain what all that was about? The…"

He waves rapidly in front of his own chest, then nods at her with scrunched brows. “And what that… thing you’re wearing is?"

“All will be revealed in time," she says flippantly, and Steve’s breath catches in his throat. _What?_  


But Toni, leaning back on her elbows, is casual — casual as one can be, after almost dying — and seems unaware that she’s anything of significance to Steve. Just a strange coincidence, that’s all.

She looks at him, “I appreciate the assist back there. But I _still_ don’t need a bodyguard, you know that, right? I know you’re kind of a hero type, within your own circles, but—"

“That’s not what I— friends help each other out. Help each other, you know... Not get killed."

Toni smiles even wider. “Is that what we are now? Friends?"

“You want to keep it formal? Business partner?"

“Partner." She nods. “Sure, all right. You got yourself a Goddamn partner."

###  _1916_

“It’s a _what?_ "

He is the youngest — and smallest — member of the Howlers by far, but Steve has been part of enough cons in the last seven years to sense that this one was unusual as was the man requesting it.

But Mr. Dugan, who led the gang Steve ran with, seemed to think it was a perfectly reasonable job, and this Nathaniel Richards, whoever he was, was offering quite a sum to carry it out.

Dugan and his men would distract the old man, this Professor Erskine, and Steve would squeeze in through the cracked cellar window and retrieve the item.

Steve didn’t _like_ to steal, mind you, but it was really all he’d known; he didn’t even really remember his parents, and he ran away from the orphanage at nine after being picked on one too many times.

It was an okay trade for a runty orphan with no home, and besides, he could actually use the fact that he was so small and so slight to his advantage, playing on marks' sympathy, or slipping into nooks and crannies where no one else could fit.

“He says it’s a silver statue," Dugan tells him, before they make their way to Erskine’s building, “Of a little man, kneeling. He says you’ll know it when you see it." Dugan hands Steve a flask; Steve waves a hand, refusing.

“Not a request, kid," Dugan pushes the flash further toward him, and Steve takes it. “Medicinal. Can’t have your coughing botch up the job. _Again_."

Steve knocks back a drink, then lets out a sputtering cough.

“You said you thought this guy might have…Army ties?"

“Don’t you go getting patriotic on me," Dugan warned. Steve had tried to leave the gang to enlist, starting in ’14 — tried five times, in fact — but he was rejected outright for his health every time. Falsworth, the only Brit member of Howlers, said Steve wouldn’t even have gotten a white feather had he been in England, in case the girls handing them out accidentally knocked him over with it.

So he reads headlines from the war in the papers, and tries to crush down the shame. Tells himself if the army didn’t want him, he didn’t want to risk dying for them, anyway. Which isn't true, but it helps, sometimes. A bit.

“Just want to know the situation," Steve says, cautiously.

Dugan swills back some of the whiskey, looks around, lowers his voice some.

“All you need to now about the situation is: if you think this statue thing is worth more than we’re getting for it from Richards, you tell me, all right? We’ll… settle it, if there’s a price discrepancy."

The job was going to plan, so far. Steve was in, and rummaging through the boxes in the area that was described to him. This guy sure had a lot of junk. He’d just gotten a fourth splinter, dammit, prying open another wooden box — when he knows he’s found it.

He knows, because at one glance at the thing, he feels like someone has reached into his chest, taken his heart into their hand, and _squeezes_.

Just as Richards had described, it's a small silver statue of man, kneeling with his left knee forward, about six and a half inches in height, on a round matching silver base.

The man depicted is a soldier. Steve can tell. Can just tell. He isn't wearing a uniform like any Steve has ever seen before, he notes, as he pulls the statue from the box and sets it on a nearby shelf, but something about his strength, his presence, his power. He is a soldier than serves more than an army, more than one nation.

The man is kneeling, and he holds a large round shield in front of his body, and between that and the cowl over his head, it's hard to see what he is meant to look like, but more than that… Steve doesn’t want to look. Well, he does _want_ to look, but his eyes keep darting away from the statue’s face for some reason. He feels dizzy when he tries to examine it for too long. It's almost as if… he _can’t_ look it.

“Ah, zat one is a favorite of mine also!" a voice from the stairwell behind him rings out.

Steve freezes, which isn't like him. He can usually get away, even on ruined jobs, make an effort. But he stops, and looks at the gentleman, grizzled but somehow spritely, in his tweed suit, carrying a cane.

A German? Steve thinks, somewhat groggily, A German that works for the American army?

“Not vat you expected, is it?" The man continues slowly down the stairs.

The job, the professor, the statue… Jesus, no, it was… not what he expected at all. None of it is. That last especially. Just looking at the statue, being near it, he feels… Terrified. Joyful. A heavy heart, a sense of responsibility… and possibility… and _pride_.

He glances up at window he crawled in through, and tries to take a step backward; runs into some more boxes.

“It’s quite desirable, for obvious reasons, as vell as a few I sink you might not be avare of, yet. But I’d really prefer if you didn’t take it to your friends."

Erskine is only a few feet from Steve now, even at the slow unsteady pace he is moving at, and Steve still hasn’t made a break for it. _What is wrong with him?_  


“Ve’ve all done sings ve’re not proud of, and had to do. I know zis more zan most, Mister—?"

“Rogers," Steve says involuntarily, and _what the hell,_ you never tell the mark your real name. This has gotten entirely out of control. Steve feels a coughing fit coming on, and presses his chin to his chest, trying to supress it.

“Mister Rogers, zere is more for you zan zis type of life, I sink. But you have to choose it. Desperation does not meke a man bad, but _hope_ can meke him better."

Erskine reaches out his hand, as if to shake Steve’s.

Steve feels light-headed. He glances at the statue. The man is holding his shield with such… _conviction_. And Steve wonders what he's shielding himself from. What he's facing, what he's fighting against.

He looks back at Erskine, and reaches out to shake his hand. The older man grips it, holds it firmly, smiles.

Steve has no idea what they're shaking on — this is nuts — the professor is probably going to have him dragged off to the police station any second—

— but before he can do or even think about what any of this meant, he is short of breath, collapsing — he hasn't been well lately. He’d never really been well, but it’s been worse in the days leading up to this job, and right now Steve thinks that this might well be his last one.

Erskine tries to hang on to him, but Steve falls too quickly. He tries to grab the shelf where he rested the statue, but he misses, hits the floor, and is enveloped in blackness.

* * *

He wakes in a bed — an honest-to-goodness, soft sheets, more-than-one-pillow _bed,_ with no idea where that bed is located. But there’s sun shining on him, he can feel it on his face, and the bed must have some kind of therapeutic properties, because he feels _amazing_. Like he’s cured. Of everything.

For a second, he wonders if he might be dead.

But when he ventures to open his eyes, the first thing he sees on the nightstand beside him is the statue. It looks beautiful in the sunlight. The pose hasn’t changed at all — of course not, why would he even think that? — but it somehow looks more… triumphant.

Next to the statue is a tiny circular blue and red patch with a white star in the center; there are strings coming out the back of it, like it might have been sewed to something once and then removed.

“Ah, you’re avake!" Steve looks down toward the foot of the bed; Erskine is in the doorway of the room. “You’ve been out for a few days, but I sink you’ll agree, ze rest has done you good. You’re, ah, looking… fit."

Steve laughs, pulling himself to site upright in bed. “I doubt it," he tells Erskine, and waits for a coughing fit, but it doesn’t come. His chest doesn’t hurt. He doesn’t ache all over.

He looks down at himself.

He’s pretty sure he’s still dreaming. That can’t be his body. He looks healthy, and muscular — the clothes he was wearing before barely fit him at all, and his feet are nearly touching the footboard of the bed, he reaslizes— God, he’s HUGE.

He looks back at Erskine, who raises his eyebrows.

“What did you do to me? Not that I’m not grateful—"

“If I had ze power to do zat, I assure you, Mister Rogers, I could afford a much bigger apartment. Zat, you did entirely on your own. Or perhaps with ze help of…" he glances at the statue, up at the sky, back to Steve’s face, “Unknown forces. But it certainly vasn’t my doing."

Steve is simply struck dumb for moments on end. He adamantly does not look at the statue, because statues are not magic, magic isn’t real, that’s insane, _is he going insane?_ —

“Still," Erskine cuts into his thoughts, “I’m am glad you are feeling better, in any case."

“What… what should I do now?" Steve asks, and he isn’t sure if he means in the moment, or with the rest of his life, with this new gift he’s apparently been given, and he suspects it’s maybe both.

“Vell… If I am not being too forward after having just met you, and it’s not too soon after your dramatic, ah, change, I admit… I have need of an assistant. Someone as _resourceful_ as you are could be quite helpful with my line of work."

Steve is stunned. Again. The second time in ten minutes. Is this actually happening?

“I would love to, but I mean… I don’t know about… ancient… anything, really," he gestures vaguely at the statue. "I don’t even really know what you do."

“Perhaps I am sugar-coating it too much, zen. I would be happy to teach you what I do, Mister Rogers. But in return, vhat I could really use is, vell… a _thief_."

###  _1936_

Before Steve can even think about finding a way to call back to Jarvis at home base to plan a next movie, Toni informs Steve, as she detaches and removes the metal vest and arm attachments she’d been wearing, that she has another safehouse they can head to, in Kiul.

“My garage. Well, dad’s once, but mine now. I think it’s even on the way to where you’re headed, if I’m not mistaken."

“Oh yeah? Where’s that?"

“Well, I’m guessing you need this—“ she taps the amulet, still housed in the circlet seemingly embedded in her chest, “to tell you exactly where to look, because that’s always how these things work, but generally speaking… you’re going into the mountains, aren’t you?"

Steve collects the car from the locals he’d paid to look after it at the base of the mountain; he loaned from a contact of his in Kathmandu and is rather grateful it wasn’t discovered by the Germans. It’ll be a rough trip, whether they end up heading west and north to the tallest peaks of the Himalayas, or more easterly, into Langtang, and he’s not exactly sure how far they’ll be able to drive, but it’s a start.

Steve loads his pack into the car, then gets into the driver’s seat. “Maybe," Steve says teasingly, hoping his own reticence will cause Toni to press him for details, and then he can do the same, and get some answers.

But any trace of a smile Toni had on her face earlier is gone. She shrugs, says nothing. They start the journey.

###  _1922_

Erskine is… gone. Just gone.

Steve stares at the ransacked apartment, his suitcase falling from his hand as he tries to take deep breaths. Clothes are scattered in the bedroom, in the tiny study, papers are everywhere, there’s a spilled coffee pot and knives missing from their block in the kitchen—

Every single break Steve had from attending the Sorbonne to earn his linguistics degree (the doctor had helped Steve find scholarships, and Erskine’s existing relationships with the professors there certainly didn’t hurt, either), he had been working as an unofficial “consultant" with Erskine and his team, visiting remote locations and retrieving artifacts for study. He had his share of adventures in dangerous places and learned to keep his wits about him; as a result, he could read a room for clues, warnings, pitfalls, and enemies, as well as understand the context of items from antiquity; the past has become yet another language he can read like a book.

Now he’s done with his degree, done with his latest missions, and he’s home, the place he’d come to think of as his home, anyway; but reading _this_ room— it’s too fresh, too raw, too close to the present; he doesn’t _want_ to read the clues, because the conclusion his brain is drawing involuntarily is just too—

His eye lights on Erskine’s desk in the study; there’s an envelope with his name on it. He doesn’t want to disturb the scene, but he carefully pulls it from the desk, unable to restrain himself. Maybe it’s a letter, some hint to where Erskine is, maybe he’s safe, maybe—

It _is_ a letter, but just one of recommendation, addressed to Howard Stark at the University of Chicago, extolling Steve’s virtues, heaping praise on him, and recommending him for the graduate archaeology program there, one of the best in the country. It’s dated from several months ago. There’s also a letter of acceptance from the university, dated only a few days back— Erskine… forged his application? The cheek of that man! But Steve’s laugh dies in his throat; he won’t be cheeky anymore. He won’t be _anything_ anymore.

Finally, also enclosed is the little red, white and blue patch with the star, the military-looking one Steve had seen on his very first days staying with Erskine. It was usually kept near a photo of a young man in uniform that looked like he shared Erskine’s Turkish-German heritage. The doctor never talked about the picture or the patch, but Steve was pretty sure he knew what it was and who its previous owner was, and now, Erskine was giving it to _him_. If only he could tell him thank you, say— say that—

He squeezes the patch tightly in his fist, which he bring involuntarily to his mouth, and shuts his eyes, willing tears away.

He goes and sits on the floor in the hallway, and waits.

The police arrive not too long after; Steve just continues to sit numbly as they do their work, until an officer comes out to address him. “I’m so sorry, son. We’ll let you know as soon as we find anything out. Do you have a place you can go?"

Steve blinks, clears his vision, looks at the letter of acceptance he’s been holding the whole time.

“I think so," Steve tells him.

###  _1936_

It’s not far to Kiul; Toni's “garage" is the largest structure in the village by a factor of three, but apart from that, it’s not particularly ostentatious. A sort of square, plain-looking building, with a small single room house to one side of it.

Toni is getting out of the car as soon as Steve stops the engine.

“There’s a cot in the workshop, I’ll take that," she says, walking in that direction, ignoring him as she goes, "the door to the house should be open—"

“Goddammit, Stark, wait a second!"

Toni turns, and she looks worn down, irritated. Which, he supposes, is fair. They have had a hell of a couple days, but Steve can’t seem to get a handle on her mood.

“You can’t just—"

“Can’t just what?"

“Withhold information?"

“Not withholding, just tired. What do you want to know?"

“The amulet. I need it to help me map an artifact location, but you’re— how’re you— what does it—"

Toni sighs; Steve thinks, in addition to her annoyance at him, the grimace on her face gives away that this not a particularly easy story for her. But he _has_ to know.

"We — dad and I — were living in traveling through different places in Asia in relative obscurity— dad just wanted to look for his junk and be left alone after the—“ she points between him and herself repeatedly and rolls her eyes a little, “— _us—_ "

“—Moving on—"

“—But someone found out who we were, or at least about dad’s money. They thought maybe the best way to get to it was through his daughter. They kidnapped me. I don’t think they expected me to be so, uh, spirited. I fell off a truck trying to escape, blunt chest trauma — the injury exacerbated the heart problem I’ve always had—"

"Heart problem?" Steve had no idea.

“I’ve had an irregular heartbeat since birth. It was horrible, being held captive, feeling so…lost, being in so much pain. But I actually think they would have done worse to me, if they didn’t think it would kill me.

“But, I had the amulet with me. I put it on, and I could feel this… energy coming off of it. I tested my pulse— it actually _regulated_ my heartbeat. Helped me heal. And did a hell of a lot more than that."

Steve gestured to his arms. “The… rig. The amulet powers that, too? Did your dad build that?"

Steve realizes he’s made a misstep, because like a boobytrapped sliding wall in a lost template, something in Toni's eyes just… shuts down, closes off.

“...Something like that. Look, that enough information for now? Can I get some sleep already?"

Steve closes the distance between them, puts a hand on Toni’s shoulder as she has her hand on the workshop doorknob.

“I’m not your enemy, Toni, I’m just trying to understand. If you let me in, I can help! We can help each other."

“Oh, because that went _so_ well last time."

Using his grip on her shoulder, Steve spins Toni to face him before she can retreat away from him into the workshop.

“You want to bring this up? Let’s get our cards on the table now." Steve locks his gaze on face; she stares back at him, unflinching. "I _know_ I hurt you, all right? I know I led you on, and that it was wrong to do that to you, but honestly? This is a lot of guilt and self-righteousness about a couple of _kisses_ that happened a _decade_ ago."

Toni’s hands slam into Steve’s chest and she pushes him back, away from her.

“That’s— _that’s_ what you think this is about?!" She rails.

Confusion sweeps over Steve. He shakes his head, exasperated. “What else could— we didn't _do_ anything else. You’re the one who wanted to take it farther—"

“YOU STOLE MY WORK! _OUR_ work! You took it, you LEFT and you just—" Toni is laughing an angry, almost hysterical laugh.

Steve doesn’t move. _What_ _?_ What does that even _mean?_  


Toni has whirled back to face the door, is jamming the key in lock. “You are just the _thickest_ — you may as well be blind, Omaha Rogers."

She slips into the warehouse door and slams it shut behind her.

Steve feels like a knife has been shoved into his guts, like he’s made an awful mistake but he can’t quite figure out what it is— he rushes forward, bangs on the door with his fist twice.

“What are you even— TONI!"

He pulls back to pound one more time, but the door opens, and he falls face first into warehouse, flying into the dirt floor.

He pulls himself to his feet hastily, then stands the rest of the way up more slowly when he sees he’s surrounded by men.

But they’re not men, really. He can see now, in the light (are those wireless electric lights on the walls?!), they’re… automatons, in the shapes of men, or parts of men, anyway, leaning against walls, hanging from the ceiling. Like something out of a German expressionist film. They’re, whaddaycallem… robots? A workshop full of robots.

He feels as though he’s seen their like somewhere before. A drawing, a blueprint…

One of the robots is disassembled on a workbench, near the cot Toni mentioned— it’s... hollowed out inside. He glances back to the others. None of them are particularly tall. In fact—

Toni plants herself in front of him, arms crossed, blocking them from his view, and it clicks that the robots are all about Toni’s height.

Wait.

“Hi, Cap," she says.

###  _1924_

Studying under Howard Stark is almost as much of a whirlwind as being Erskine’s assistant had been, and Steve is intensely glad of it; it gives him an excuse not to ruminate on how much he misses his former mentor.

He likes Chicago— the academic scene at the University is fine enough, but more than that, he likes that it’s a center of jazz. He likes to go to the clubs when he can; the music sounds free and spirited, sounds like change. And he likes a Phoenix metaphor as much as anyone, maybe more— Chicago is an incredible place, given than 50 years ago it was a pile of ash. Not surprisingly, stories of rebirth resonate with Steve.

But it wouldn’t be long until his education was completed here, and Steve can feel the pull of faraway places tugging at him. A year, and then he’ll be on his way, most likely. Nothing is really keeping him here. Though he admits, part of the draw to dream of escape might be the fact that Howard has him running a tedious errand today.

He’s been sent to “pick up" something sent by rail— Howard’s notes are cryptic sometimes — and sitting on a bench in new Union Station, construction being finished all around him, dawdling, he wonders what significance this thing has that Howard couldn’t have just sent Jarvis or another student.

Steve has some undergrad papers with him, and he marks up novice translations of Argonautica as the train pulls in, and people file off. Steve glances up periodically, expecting to see someone he knows approach him with the package, because otherwise Howard would have had to leave more precise instructions, wouldn't he? But they are all strangers, and he sees them all reunite with loved ones, work colleagues, friends, and then leave.

The platform empties, and he collects his books and papers from his lap; no one remains except for one girl, with a massive trunk, wearing a sweater, an unfussy skirt, and a cloche hat, looking equally as lost as he. They catch eyes at the same moment, realization starting to dawn for both of them.

“Miss?" he tries, removing his hat, walking to her.

“You aren’t a new bodyguard, are you?" she says to him, “You had better not be. I don’t need one, never needed one—"

She looks up at him, and he can see her face even better now, and _wow_.

She’s pretty, that’s obvious — her face is open, luminant, covered in the most charming freckles, blue topaz eyes surveying him — but what sets her apart, what he’s immediately attracted to is the set of her jaw, her confident footing, her clenched fists, the fire radiating from her.

The word comes to him, unbidden: she’s incredible.

She looks young, but there’s a cleverness about her that wouldn’t belong to a child, and Steve can never tell how old women are— she’s got to be a colleague, or another grad student of Howard’s, hasn’t she? Does she have the item in her trunk?

Steve hopes he hasn’t been staring for too long.

“Not that I’m aware of," He holds out his hand, "Steve Rogers. I’m not sure if you could help me with— Doctor Howard Stark sent me to pick something up for him. He was a little vague on what it was, though."

She closes her eyes, smiles, and she looks knowing, and maybe… long-suffering? Is that the word? “Yeah, he’ll do that sometimes."

“Do you know him?"

“A little. Not really. He’s my father," she finishes. She takes his outstretched hand as he tries not to gawp. "Antonia Stark. I’m your special delivery. Good to meet you."

Oh, _boy_.

###  _1936_

Steve feels like he’s seeing Toni for the first time all over again.

She’s still Toni— powerful, independent, lovely Toni— friend, more-than-friend, to him from years ago.

  
_And_ she’s the tough, unstoppable woman who fought beside him in the bar yesterday.

And she’s Iron Man, the most incredible engineer, incredible _mind_ , period, he’s ever encountered, and apparently self-taught, to boot. Whose work has been at the back of his mind for years. Who wanted to explore the world with him.

“You. You’re."

“Yes," she says.

“Iron… _man?_ " Steve asks, not knowing where else to start.

“You had Argonautica with you the first day I met you. My dad made me memorize parts of it as a kid. I always remembered the bit with Talos: _'_ _Now in all the rest of his body and limbs was he fashioned of bronze and invulnerable…’_ I thought you’d guess that right off, though, and bronze seemed a little old fashioned for me. And now… " she gestures behind her to the… suits, Steve supposes they are. “I guess I grew into it."

“Why didn’t you _tell_ me?"

“At first? I just… wanted you to see me for _me_. Not a women's school reject, not my father’s daughter, just… me. No one ever had before. But you read my notes, and you were _excited_. I thought if I told you outright, you wouldn’t believe me. But I was going to tell you, I tried to."

“You made plans with me," Steve recalls, "That night. Both as Iron Man, and as—"

Toni nods, “—as, uh, ‘Toni.’ I guess I wanted to see what you’d do. You actually came to Dad’s house, but you seemed nervous, like you had somewhere else to be; it was… kind of sweet, you being there with me and you thinking about, uh, well, _me_ , too. I was about to tell you, when—"

Steve winces; it’s still embarrassing after all these years. Maybe more, now. The scene is burned into Steve’s mind.

Toni kissing him impulsively, earnestly, overcome by her crush, (and in retrospect, probably about sharing her secret with him) and for a second it was bliss. Their age difference didn’t matter, nothing mattered, just her radiant incredible self, pressed close to him… And then, Howard walking in on them, screaming at Steve, throwing him out of the house, accusing him of taking advantage of Toni.

He had been mortified. It looked horrible, it hurt both Toni and Howard's reputations, and Steve knew his relationship with Howard, and maybe his career, was destroyed.

He left Chicago immediately— took the first job he came across, flew out of the country. He was so selfish, so wounded at the time, he hadn’t stopped to think what that retreat looked like, that his running away was basically an admission of guilt, implicating he and Toni further— and he never stopped to leave a note, never mailed a letter. For Toni, or for "Iron Man."

“You just… left, Steve. I know it’s silly, I was just a girl, but..." Toni paces, looking a little like a tiger in a cage. “My dad had been ignoring me, shipping me off to boarding schools for years, and I was just starting to see what men wanted from me— besides my father’s money, anyway. And then you were there, and you were different, and we had a project, a plan— we were going to be a team. And then you took our book, with all my notes in it, and _left_."

Steve reaches in his inner pocket in his inner jacket pocket and feels for the notebook, fingers the leather edge softly. He never forgot. He’d even heard about Howard and Toni being in Nepal earlier this year. It wasn’t a coincidence, their youthful obsession in the notebook and Toni’s current location. Why hadn’t he put it together before now?

He pulls out the notebook. Toni spots it, and smiles, looking a little bit pained.

“You came here," he confirms, "To do what we talked about. In the notebook."

“Dad left the country not long after you, and took me with him," she rolls her eyes some, not saying a word but silently indicating her annoyance at his and Howard's fragility of ego, “He did some work in China, and I… persuaded him to move our base of operations here."

“Persuaded…? That’s gotta be a story—"

“—It is," Toni agrees, a laugh in her eyes, but doesn’t elaborate.

“And the—“ he gestures at the mechanicals.

“Armors? Those were… a sort of necessity, at first. I had to get away from my kidnappers—"

“You made these in _captivity?_ "

“Well, the rig you saw earlier— in the bar. That was the prototype. It’s smaller, so I keep it with me in case of emergencies— and you turning up on my doorstep is definitely an emergency."

“And…Howard?" Steve treads carefully; he knows Toni has a lot of mixed feelings wrapped up in her father’s memory. But he’d like to know what happened.

Toni shakes her head. “When I freed myself and came back, he was gone. I can only assume…"

Steve nods; she doesn’t need to go on. It’s so suspiciously similar to what happened to Erskine… But they can come back to that later. Better to dwell on the people here now, and the mission still unfinished.

“Did you find any of the other ancient sites?" He opens the notebook, flips to their notes from a decade ago, places it on Toni’s workbench, “There were at least four… all in the Himalayas..."

They both huddle over the notes, and Steve feels a rush of warmth, like no time has passed between them at all, except that’s not quite right, because “Cap" and Iron Man never did this in person. But it feels right, like they should have been working together along.

Toni flips through the pages, sighs. “Never got to any of them. I'm close. I’ve never been as good at the translations and antiquities business as you, but I just tried to follow the science." She spreads out a map next to Steve’s journal. "The lesser radiation signatures are coming from here, here, and here—“ she points, to an area where she’s made notes: some non-English words with questions marks, “This one’s near the site of some ancient gnat cult or something—"

“Wasp."

“What?"

“Wasp. That word, in Pali, it doesn’t mean _gnat_ , it means _wasp_."

Toni waves a hand in front of her face as if said insect was buzzing at her. “Semantics. The point is, none of those are giving me the big readings, the mother lode. That’s coming from—“ She traces a circle on the map, near the Langtang Valley, “here."

“That’s so close," Steve marvels, and he can’t keep the excitement out of his voice at this point, “we’re practically on top of it."

Toni leans into him, laughing, and Steve leans closer, too, the heat between them palpable. “Be still my stunted, half-broken heart," she says, throwing a palm over her chest. “Speaking of which…"

She pulls the amulet out of the fixture on her chest, and Steve holds his breath, until she pulls another similar sized disc out of a drawer below the workbench, and slots it in. It’s got more wires and metal pieces, has no center stone, and looks less polished, but judging by the fact that’s Toni’s still upright, it seems to operate in a similar manner.

“ _Breathe_. This is the homemade, girl-scout version. It doesn’t have as much power, doesn’t last as long, especially when it comes to operating the suits. Need to make a few spares, to take with me. I’ve got plans to make a better one, but the materials just… don’t exist. Or haven’t been found. _Yet_. Which is why I’ve been on this crazy search at all. Historical significance be damned, I’m in it for _industry_ ," she baits Steve playfully, but he doesn’t fall for it, just grins. "But we need to look at the piece, so it’ll work for a second," she tells him.

She holds up the real amulet — it’s a tarnished silver color, the outer circle of it has markings, not any variation of Sanskrit — or any language — Steve’s ever seen. It’s dented on that side as well, causing the opposite side of the circle to be raised. He supposes that’s just damage from wear over the years. In the center is a pale blue stone, probably the energy source.

“I’ve had this looked at my at least ten different regional experts, but no one can tell me what it says or what it does. I know it’ll tell us how to get to the main site, but I don’t know where to start. It’s a, a headpiece for a staff, or fits into a lightbox, Dad thought. Marks a spot on a map when light shines through it. But I don’t know where it aligns, what it’s supposed to point to— augh!"

She tosses it onto the workbench, and it lands on top of the map they were just studying.

Steve crouches next to the bench for a second, to clear his head and try to get a fresh perspective on it — when that very thing happens.

Looking at the amulet from side-on, at eye level, the raised bumps are facing up, and he can see that they are not wear-and-tear, not accidental at all. He stands up.

“The piece. It’s always had these bumps?"

Toni nods.

Steve starts sliding it around on the map’s surface, close to where Toni said the energy spikes where showing up.

“It’s not a headpiece, it doesn’t highlight a map, it IS a map…" Steve rotates the piece, aligning it over the Langtang region.

“The bumps are topographical," Toni breathes, awed. “Which means the stone is…"

“A lake," they say at the same time, both buzzing with discovery.

Steve looks under the amulet, reads the map beneath. Gosainkunda. The holy lake, home to Shiva and Parvati, if legends were to be believed. Maybe home to the greatest power source on Earth.

“You cracked it in five minutes. You lucky son-of-a- _bitch_."

Toni probably makes the first move, because that’s just Toni, but their mouths are smashing together before Steve can really get his head around what’s happening. Her hands are under his jacket and he’s cupping her face and her mouth is just as he remembered it, except now she biting his lower lip and _pulling_ , oh, God, Toni...

In between the fierce, excitement-fueled locking of lips, Steve pretends to scowl and admonish her, “Watch your language, young lady," he says, fingers entangled in her hair.

“I’m—“ she kisses him wildly, almost over-dramatically, as if proving a point, “not— ughn— _sixteen_ , anymore, Steve—"

She’s putting a leg up and actually crawling, catlike, up his form, and he stumbles, flat-backed on the workbench.

“And— huhn— I’m not— _twenty-five_ —"

Toni is starting in on his shirt buttons, sliding a hand over his collarbone. “You can stop acting like you’re _ninety-five_ , though—"

“It’s not the years, honey, it’s the mileage," he snarks.

The hand that Toni isn’t snaking inside his shirt, is making its way down to his belt—Steve groans aloud—

When there’s a CRACK on the door.

Steve slams his head back on the workbench in frustration, and Toni puts her head on his chest for a second. “We never seem to get a break, do we?" she laments, briefly. Then she’s up and moving quietly across the room as the door is struck again; it sounds like it’s giving way. “Stall them, I’ve got a plan. Sort of."

“What??" hisses Steve, sitting up, shoving the amulet in his jacket pocket. “What’s the plan?"

Toni has dimmed the lights and is moving somewhere behind the suits; Steve can’t see her or what she’s doing. “We... take them out and get away?" she offers.

“That is _not_ a plan," Steve whisper-shouts angrily, but there’s no time to debate.

The door gets hit again and this time flies off its hinges and lands in front of Steve.

“Bonjour, Doctor Rogers," says the intruder, amiably. He’s backlit by moonlight, but Steve can just barely see he’s wearing a cream colored suit, and a matching hat. Steve doesn’t need to see his face to know he’s also wearing a smug grin.

“ _Batroc_ ," Steve growls.

“The building is entirely surrounded, so don’t think about trying to escape." Footsteps and shouting in German can be heard from all directions; it doesn’t seem to be a bluff. “I’ve missed you, Rogers," Batroc intones sweetly.

“I’ve missed you too," says Steve, pulling out his whip and gun, “But I’ve been working on my aim." He thinks he hears the clanking of metal behind him, maybe the sound of a wrench. He really, _really_ hopes he hears this.

“Oh, put that pop gun and that piece of twine away. Our weapons will destroy you in an instant. I must admit, I didn’t think our adventures together would end like this. You, cowering in a warehouse in some little village protecting a woman you barely know."

“Wrong, moron," a mechanized version of Toni’s voice comes across loud and clear.

WHUMP. A huge, earth shaking footstep. Something big is moving through the darkness behind Steve. He has a pretty good idea what it is, and is _thrilled_ about it, and it even rattles _him_ a little.

The soldiers surrounding the building start shouting frantically. Batroc takes a step backward, more moonlight spilling onto his confused, shocked face.

“One, he knows me pretty damn well."

WHUMP.

"Two, this isn’t the end. For you? Maybe, but not for us."

WHUMP.

"And three, he’s not protecting me."

WHUMP.

“ _I’m_ protecting _him_."

And suddenly, there next to Steve, taller than he is, about six-foot-five, looking more than formidable, sporting a bullet-proof metal skin, gun attachments on both arms, both currently being raised, ready to fire, is a Man. Of Iron. Being operated by a woman with a will of steel.

“Sweetheart," he says to her fondly, "you look _great._ "

Batroc leaps out of the way, ordering his troops to fire. Steve hides behind Toni’s suit and the initial wave of bullets ricochet off her. She fires back a round, but more troops are coming.

“Do you have a new plan?" Steve asks, back to back with giant-metal-Toni, wondering about the structural integrity of the walls, “Because as well as you’re doing, we’re outnumbered and they’re on all sides."

“Not _all_ sides," Toni answers, still firing out the front door.

“What?" Steve is more than a little puzzled.

“ _One_ of us has to think like an engineer," she says in a mocking tone, “Hold on."

“For how long?"

“No," she turns the giant robot suit around to face him. He stares at the metal helmet, uncomprehending.

“I mean _grab on_ ," she insists. It sounds like an engine is roaring to life behind her. What is that?

“To what??" he yells.

“TO ME, CAP!"

Steve flings his whip over the suit’s head, securing it around its neck, and its metal arms wrap around him for an awkward embrace, just as jets shoot out from the suits feet and back and they start lifting into the air.

“Brace yourself," she warns, and they crash through the ceiling and continue up into the sky.

“And now, the grand finale," she announces as they continue to ascend.

She clenches a metal fist. It’s a remote detonator, Steve realizes, as below, the workshop explodes into flames and sends the soldiers that were attacking them scattering.

“Toni—“ Steve says, shocked.

“I’m running out of places I own on this continent, Rogers. Your army pals better have a LOT more than five thousand for me."

“Your suits!" he commiserates, “All your work."

Toni’s voice is warped though the suit, but Steve thinks she sounds pretty level-headed, all things considered.

“I got out of there with what mattered," she sounds like she might be smiling, “And I couldn't have those goons getting their hands on my stuff. Besides, all in all, I’m pretty happy with the way this flight test has worked out." She start to accelerate, shooting them upward; the air is getting a little thin.

“Wait— you didn’t know before if you could actually _fly_ this thing?" he screams over the engines.

“Fly, yes, obviously. Land, not sure."

Steve gulps and shuts his eyes; his sympathy for is Toni magically gone, and all the food he’s had in the past few days might go with it, too. The wind nearly takes his hat off. He secures it at the last second.

He might have to kill Toni if she doesn’t kill both of them first.

* * *

They haven’t been heading north and east for long when several small lakes come into view below them. One of the bigger ones is shaped like the stone in the amulet.

“That it?" asks Toni, and Steve nods. She starts to bring the suit down, the ground coming up to meet them quickly.

“Good, because my backup chest piece is running out of juice. Can’t really operate the suit more than once without the real thing. Stopping this thing will be dangerous, so I’ll let you go first. You can take the water landing, and I’ll bring her down on the other side," Toni explains.

The air, which Steve assumed was only so cold at higher altitudes, is not getting any warmer. It seems even colder than it should be, for where they are.

Toni’s bring him in over the lake, and Steve’s suddenly aware that the lake looks incredibly placid. Too placid. Not a ripple.

  
_**Ice**_.

Why did it have to be _**ice?**_  


“Toni, wait!" Steve protests, but she’s already letting him go, and he plunges down, smashing through the frozen top layer and into the intolerably cold water.

The shock of the cold snaps his eyes open, and he looks around, below the surface of the sacred lake.

The lake is more of a slightly overgrown pond, only about 12 feet deep. He peers down to the bottom. He sees a rocky outcropping, and nestled into the rocks, what looks like a stone door, and in the middle of the door there’s the imprint of a circle about the size of an amulet. Damn. The thing is a key too.

Steve kicks up to the surface, and looks frantically around for Toni. She’s out of the suit on the eastern side of the lake, looking relatively unharmed. The suit is in a couple of pieces, notably a leg and an arm are detached, but the damage probably could have been much worse. Steve sighs in relief before the shivers kick in.

“This is a lovely vacation spot," Toni calls to him gamely, standing at the lake’s edge, the suit’s helmet tucked under her arm.

“It’s no good," Steve shouts. Dammit. It galls him to be so close to the endgame and to have to stop now.

“Yeah, I was lying. We should honeymoon somewhere else."

“N-n-no," Steve sulks, teeth chattering. He swims to the edge of the hole in the ice made by his plunge. “I mean we have to re-g-group, and come back."

“What? No, why?" Toni tries to run across the frozen lake top to him, but stops a few feet short when she feels the ice giving way.

“The amulet. It’s a key, as well as a map. There’s an entrance to the where the artifact is, I think, down in the lake, but I'd have to slot the amulet in to open it. We obviously can’t use it for that."

“Why not?"

“You need it for your heart," he says, desperately.

“Oh, _now_ he worries about my heart. Could’ve used that ten years ago, let me tell _you_."

Steve isn’t amused. It’s hard to find anything amusing when you’re starting not to be able to feel your extremities. “Cut it out, Toni!"

“My backup battery will be fine, for a little while, anyway."

“Will it work underwater??"

“It doesn’t have to," Toni says quietly, and looks at him intently. Focused. _Maybe_ … maybe with love.

Steve feels like _he’s_ the one with the heart problem now.

“Toni, _no_ —“ he puts his hands on the lip of the ice, tries to pull himself out, but the force of his weight just breaks off more ice, and he falls back into water. Toni scoots back from the cracking edge of the ice, so she doesn’t fall in as well.

“Steven Omaha Rogers, you are _not_ giving up, not now. You’re going in there and getting that… thing, whatever it is. Because only you can, because I _want_ it, and because you have to. I’ll see you on the other side." She sits at the edge of the lake, sets the helmet on her lap. “Besides, I have to stay with the suit. Your French friend and his helpers aren’t going to turn tail that easily, and the suit… it’s a part of me. They don’t get to have it, not ever. I’ll stay here, fix it up so it can at least be moved—"

“You’ll freeze," Steve tries, but he knows he’s not going to dissuade her at this point 

“You better get going then, so I don’t have to wait long." She pulls a small screwdriver out of the inside of the chest cavity of the suit, and starts to tighten a screw on the side of the helmet.

“Go, go be a hero type," she tells him, kindness in her voice. She sounds... vulnerable. “Come back safe to me, Steve."

Steve swallows, shivers, nods at her. Pretends it’s the cold that’s keeping him from saying something, hopes that his eyes are saying it instead.

He dives.

* * *

Inside the stone entrance, Steve swims upward, and it’s not long before he hits the surface.

He had to leave the amulet in the stone, to keep the entranceway from closing, but he promises himself, he’ll get it later. He’ll circle back for it. He will.

Unfortunately, here inside the cave, there’s no light at all, so it’s going to be slow, groping around in complete blackness.

_You might as well be blind, Omaha Rogers._

Steve feels around and find an edge to the water, pulls himself onto an expanse of rock.

He wrings out his hat, puts it back on his head, does the best he can with his jacket. He touches the red, white, and blue patch sewn on the strap of his shoulder bag, once, for luck, and gets ready to move on, like he’s not sopping wet and almost as cold as he’s ever been in his entire life.

Because Toni is waiting for him.

He picks a direction and walks in it, slowly, hands feeling out around him— he runs into walls on either side quickly. Hallway or passage way, then. He’s feeling the rock, his fingers searching for odd crevices, unusual shapes, anything that might signal a trap.

But what he starts to feel instead, as he walks, are carvings. And they tell a story. He knows it immediately, and that scares him. Because he can read the past, sure. But this comes to him so quickly, and he's so certain, he can’t but feel the past is reading to _him_.

He walks, and touches the wall to his right, running his fingers along it, and listens to what the cave is telling him.

  
_There’s a boy,_ it says _He’s tiny, and weak, and sick—_  


And just like that, Steve can feel the cave… heating up? Or is it just him? He feels like he has the most horrible fever, his throat starts to ache, he’s burning up, he feels like he did when—

  
_Steven?_ the cave says, in a familiar voice.

He stops moving, stops breathing.

  
_Mom?_ he mouths silently. Sweat is pouring from his forehead now.

_Steven, it’s going to be okay. I’m here sweetheart, it’s going to be—_

Steve pulls his hand off the right wall, and Sarah Rogers voice shuts off in his head. He fumbles in the dark and leans to the left wall now.

  
_ROGERS!_ A military voice yells in his mind’s ear, FALL IN! I SAID, FALL IN _—_  


Steve pulls his hands off both walls and keeps walking, blindly. It’s awful, with nothing to guide him, but it’s better than the alternative.

He squints, thinks maybe there’s a light from up ahead, and starts to rush toward it—

He stops himself just in time before he falls down into a massive crevasse, the bottom of which he can’t see.

There’s more solid rock on the other side, about eight feet away. Beyond that, more darkness.

He looks around. There’s nothing to grab onto, nothing to secure his whip to. There’s nothing for it but to jump.

He takes a few steps back, to give himself room, and runs, and leaps over.

As he is directly over the crevasse, he’s sure he can hear a young man screaming, echoing down the rock. He’s heard it in a nightmare before, but he doesn’t know who the scream belongs to.

He keeps moving.

More light is peeking through the cavern ceiling. He can’t tell if it’s sunlight or something else, but the temperature has warmed up considerably. His clothes are actually drying. Logically, this doesn’t make any sense. But hell, does anything else in his life?

He keeps moving.

Until the hallway opens into a massive cavernous room, with a huge, domed ceiling. It’s actually tropical inside, moss growing on the rock under his feet, vines hanging down the walls. There are carvings everywhere, on every surface, and the stories are just too numerous to read and comprehend. There are figures in the most bizarre costumes, fighting every creature imaginable. Some of them are robots, kind of like Toni’s suits, and some of them look like the man from Erskine’s statue. But his eyes are drawn away from all that when he sees what’s in the center of the room.

There’s a pedestal, and on it, a golden statue, the exact size of the Erskine’s, with the same style base.

But this time, the figure is of _Toni’s suit_ , the one she fought Batroc and flew them to safety in. Every detail, every bit of it, exactly the same, preserved in perfect miniature.

Of course, the full-sized suit isn’t pure gold, but Steve smiles to himself for the first time since he’s entered this stupid cave, and thinks maybe he’ll make the suggestion to her; it’s ostentatious enough to be her style, right?

Is this it? Is this really it? Ten years of the two of them dreaming, studying, and searching for this thing, separately, half a world apart, and now together... Can this be the end of the line?

He approaches the pedestal cautiously, but the floor doesn’t crumble beneath him, poison darts don’t shoot from the walls.

As Steve gets closer, he can see words on the pedestal, making an arc around that statue base. It’s in Newari, but it's an ancient dialect he’s not entirely familiar with. He thinks the text on one side says, _from the bottom of my heart_ , and on the other, _you must run prior to the journey._  


Those phrases seem entirely unhelpful.

Steve would normally try a little switcheroo here, try to put something of similar weight down on the pedestal to replace the statue, but he glances around, and it feels as thought the eyes of the characters on the walls are watching him, waiting to see what he’ll do. Even if he had a ringer, he gets the feeling it wouldn’t be that easy.

Well, it’s now or never.

Steve takes the statue.

Nothing happens.

He begins crossing to the other side of the chamber, where the passageway seems to continue.

As he hits the threshold of the passageway, the end of the chamber, the entire cave starts to _rumble_.

  
_You must run_ , the pedestal said.

Maaaybe it was more helpful than he gave it credit for.

He is tearing down the passage way, hoping to God this doesn’t lead him toward a deadend. He hears rocks crumbling, falling in the chamber behind him. This whole cave is going to collapse in and he doesn’t want to be here to see it.

What little light there is is glinting off the statue, so he can see a bit better than he could in the entrance passage, and he screams as he runs, the echoes of sound helping him to navigate better.

(And if he’s terrified, too, well, no one has to know.)

The light ahead of him is getting brighter, and the sound less echo-y, and he keeps running, until he suddenly feels blinded again, this time, with bright white light.

He’s out. He’s outside. The cave, housed in a mountain as he can now see, behind him. All around him is snow, just pure white nothingness, sloping downward. He’s safe. And he’s got the statue. He’s going to find Toni, and it’s going to be fine, he stops and thinks to himself. It actually is.

He only stops for a second, but a second is long enough.

Behind and above him, there’s an initial sound like a sack of potatoes hitting the ground, and then a low roar, like thunder slowed down, and Steve glances back to see what it is.

An enormous sheet of ice is careening down the mountain side, right at him. His heart drops.

He starts to run again, of course he does, he has to try, but he can hear the avalanche gaining on him, and his every step is snow up to his knees. He’ll be over taken any second, crushed under tons of falling rocks and ice.

He’s not happy about this end to his life, but an odd feeling of peace hits him, thinking that he’ll be buried here, part of the story of this mountainside. Hundreds of years later, someone will dig him up, and analyze his bones, and make conjectures about his life. He’ll be history, in the most literal sense.

He glances at the statue. _Toni._ Hopefully she’ll find it, even if she doesn't find him, using her tracking equipment. Or if not, she can get the amulet back from the cave entrance. She’ll be fine, she’ll carry on without him… won’t she?

The avalanche behind him is louder than ever — it must be close now—

“Oh no you don’t," he hears a tinny voice in his ear, as an engine kicks into a higher gear, “You’re not getting away from me that easily," and he’s being lifted up in the sky, the swirling crash of snow receding below him and he’s laughing, the sound of that laughter slapping back off the mountainsides, echoing all around. From the lowest low, to the highest high, and he’s being carried there by his personal (enormous, gas-powered, metallic) guardian angel.

“Good work, Iron Man," he says understatedly. “Uh, do you still want me to call you a man?"

“Yes, because that’s my codename, Rogers, and because I say so. Ooh, that’s fancy," she says, changing the subject and admiring the statue. “Wait. Is that. _Me?_ Oh God, Steve, how do you explain that?"

“I don’t," he says, happily, and for once, not knowing doesn’t bother him. They’ll figure it out.

Toni starts to descend, heading for a lower cliffside. She lowers him into a soft snow bank, and makes a relatively clean landing; she seems to be getting the hang of the thing, he thinks, just before she topples into snow, landing flat on her back. He laughs.

“So you got the amulet back?" he walks to her, dusting powder off of himself as he goes.

“Uh, well, not exactly," she says, pulling the helmet off. Her face matches the color of the snow. Her eyes are red and she’s not breathing well. “I couldn’t get it out, I think it was only meant to be used once, and… and I had to come find you."

“Toni. Toni." He falls to his kneels over her, "Your backup battery. You said it couldn’t power the suit for long. You said—“ Steve doesn’t sound like himself, his voice is choked, and deeper than it ought to be. “ _Toni, tell me what to do_."

“Nothing to do, Cap. This was my choice. I’ve never done a thing in my life that wasn’t selfish, or backward, or convoluted—"

“Stark, _don’t_ —Toni—"

“—But this? Saving you? This was worth it."

But it’s not, he thinks, it’s _not_ , not to him.

He lost his parents, Erskine, Howard, and now Toni lays dying in front of him; if the spark goes out of her eyes, he’s not sure this is a world he wants to live in alone.

She is fighting for air, and he rips the chest plate off the front of the suit, because— is he actually thinking this? — she should at least be _comfortable_ —

NO. He slams the statue down against the cliffside.

And he hears… a rattle.

_From the bottom of my heart._

_From the bottom..._

Steve pries open the chest piece of the statue— and pulls out a flat, circular stone, about the same hue as the tiny stone in the center of the amulet was, but it’s the same size as the entire amulet itself. Which means it should be… more powerful? Oh, God, please let this work.

Steve slots the disk into Toni’s chest piece. A terrifying moment of absolute stillness.

Then, sparks dance over the armor. Toni’s eyes shoot open, and she heaves air into her lungs, an ugly ragged gasp. It’s the most beautiful thing Steve’s ever heard.

Steve falls into a heap in the snow beside her. They both turn their heads to the side, looking into the other’s smiling face.

“Good work, Captain," she compliments him.

“Inscription on the statue pedestal. Told me what to do."

“Nice pedestal."

“It also told me to run.. before the journey? It didn’t make sense…" He tries speaking the words outloud, as best he can remember, and Toni giggles.

“You speak Ancient Newari?"

“Pfft, you and your dead languages. No, I just… get the jist of it. Sometimes, you gotta _run_ before you can _walk_."

They lie in silence, in the snow, in the mountains, just breathing.

Steve wants to do everything with Toni, now that’s found her, and found out who she is properly. For a moment, though, he's happy to do nothing.

“One down, three more to go," says Toni, indicating the other ancient sites, as if reading his mind again. “For the record, I don’t think we’re _ever_ going to catch a break."

Steve is still grinning. The sky is an odd color. The sun is either coming up, or going down. It’s pretty, which ever one it is.

“I think I can live with that."

_Fin._

**Author's Note:**

> It took a fair amount of restraint not to call this: _Raiders of the Lost Arc Reactor_ , _Stark of the Covenant_ , or _Bad Dates_.
> 
> This is probably the most straightforward, cornball interpretation of the art prompt you could ever do, and there are more clever ones already existing, but I got the idea of Goddess-Among-Goddesses, Karen Allen, as fem!Tony and this just sort of happened.
> 
> This has not been beta’ed, because I wanted to get it done as fast as possible to comply with the spirit of the Tiny RB deadline, but send me typos, etc.
> 
> At first I was trying to be as accurate as I possibly could be, but by the end I started playing more fast and loose with Nepalese geography, and just vaguely guessing what it was like in 1920 (to be fair, _Raiders_ has its own inaccuracies as well.) Time just didn’t allow for more study. Happy to update if you know more than I do!
> 
> Similarly, I don’t know Nepali, or devanagari, I just tried my best with Google translate, corrections more than welcome.
> 
> I have been thinking of Steve’s year of birth in this story as the same as Indy’s (1899), but Steve’s timeline is a little different, if you’re quite familiar with the Young Indiana Jones Chronicles. I ultimately wanted to write a summer-y happy super funtimes archaeology story, not a story about the crushing futility and death of the World War I, so had to finagle with some things to make that work.
> 
> I replaced the Eckhart Hall Mathematics building at U of C, finished in 1930, with Stark Hall. Crerar is the Sci-Tech lib now at U of C, but seems like one of the the oldest libraries there so I assumed it might have been the only/main library at the time, maybe a place Steve would hang out.
> 
> As for Marvel-based universes, I think Steve and Toni are more than a little MCU-ish, the Indy/Marion-based nature of their somewhat adversarial relationship lends itself to those personas, but there are 616 references, too. It was definitely a mashup in my head. (Toni’s blue eyes are more a Karen Allen thing but interpret as you will.)
> 
> HUGE COLOSSAL GIANT-SIZED thanks to [tinctoriawoad](tinctoriawoad.tumblr.com) for creating the original art and turning the engine over in my brain, and galvanizing me to write my first fic in years, second fic ever, and also longest fic ever. The art was just TOO AWESOME.
> 
> The secret identity subplot came about as I was writing; consider it a panama hat tip to [Sineala](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Sineala/profile) who is the queen of idenitity porn and a true Marvel historian; I love all her work.
> 
> And if you read all this, you are a perfect human (or other creature — I ain’t hatin’) and deserve hugs and cookies.


End file.
